


Was a Lonely Soul, But That's the Old Me

by theswearingkind



Series: A Little Foolishness and a Lot of Curiosity [2]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: Canon Gay Relationship, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 10:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theswearingkind/pseuds/theswearingkind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agron makes an offer.  Nasir doesn't understand, at first.  OR, the first time Agron goes down on Nasir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Was a Lonely Soul, But That's the Old Me

**Author's Note:**

> So, after the extended scene came out and we got the [shot](http://aeternium.tumblr.com/post/49196097991/nothing-can-convince-me-that-going-down-on-nasir) of Agron kissing down Nasir's chest before pretty clearly sucking him off, aeternium made a [post](http://aeternium.tumblr.com/post/49197367460/and-while-were-on-the-subject-in-addition-to) about how going down on Nasir is always a good time for Agron, and also how Agron is probably the only person who ever gave Nasir a blowjob. And so even though I am terrible at writing blowjobs, my brain was like, cool, let's write that rather than one of the other seven WIPs we've got. So. That's what this is, basically. It was supposed to be PWP, but then a whole bunch of feelings got in the way. Set in the same universe as [Above All in My Mad Heart](http://archiveofourown.org/works/718814), but it's not necessary to know that story to understand this one.
> 
> Title from OneRepublic's "Feel Again," which is one of my favorite Agron/Nasir songs. 
> 
> Warnings for mentions of past sexual abuse.

Nasir doesn’t understand, at first.

He stares dumbly down at where Agron kneels before him; even on his knees, Agron’s head reaches the middle of his chest. Agron is kissing over Nasir’s stomach, alternating kisses and laves of his tongue with sharp nips and scrapes of teeth, his large hands bracketing Nasir’s hips and holding him to the wall. He loses breath as Agron’s tongue dips into his navel, an unexpected flash of want pooling in his belly. 

They are neither of them new to this, but it is all still so unexpected, nonetheless.

“Nasir?” Agron repeats, smoothing a hand up the outside of Nasir’s thigh, digging his fingers into the ridge of muscle starting to form over the rise of Nasir’s ass. 

“Apologies,” Nasir says thoughtlessly, mind still caught half a minute back, and only half-registers Agron’s frown; Nasir knows that Agron does not like the all-too-easy way that apologies roll off of his tongue, the product of a lifetime of practice, and he is trying to learn how to curb the words before they find voice. But how can Agron expect Nasir to martial sense when he bites along the line of Nasir’s hip, his mouth leaving behind a damp trail that grows cool in the night air and makes a shiver run up Nasir’s spine? 

Agron digs his teeth into the slight remaining curve of Nasir’s stomach, hard, then sucks a deep, open-mouthed kiss into the delicate skin. The strength of his hands holding Nasir to the wall is all that keeps Nasir’s knees from buckling beneath him. 

“Agron,” he hears himself say, voice raised in a plea so wanton that he would blush to hear it, were all his blood not otherwise occupied. He thinks longingly of the oil beside their bedroll, halfway across the room, and wishes they had been more sparing with it the last two nights; Nasir has shared Agron’s bed for nearly a month, now, and he still requires extensive preparation before they fuck. Nasir was no virgin when the gods led Agron to him, but it had been some years since he had been fucked; dominus required Tiberius’ cock, not his ass, and he was not a man given to sharing his favored toys. 

Last night, Agron had spent the better part of an hour opening Nasir with his thick fingers, then fucked him with long, slow rolls of his hips while Nasir buried his face in Agron’s neck and tried not to let his cries wake the rebels sleeping outside the small room in the temple that they have claimed as their own. He had not succeeded, not entirely, but neither could he bring himself to care. 

“You have not given answer,” Agron says at last, pulling back for long enough that the cobwebs in Nasir’s brain begin to clear. He stares up at Nasir, eyes flashing green in the dim light from the candles burning low, and smiles, wide and open. 

Nasir would give almost anything, he thinks, to see that smile directed toward him all the days of his life. It is too soon to think such things, he knows, and not only because their time together has yet been short; it feels dangerous, still, to want so deeply—to want at all—after more than a dozen years of smothering desire in ashes, when the Romans hunt them as for sport. But knowledge of the danger does not erase the thought, does not slow the humming in his blood when Agron crosses mind, nor stop the jump of heart in Nasir’s chest when Agron is near. He is so very _aware_ of Agron, always. 

Except now, it seems, as Agron darts back in and nips at the skin under his scar before Nasir registers the movement. He lets out a startled noise, tugging sharply at Agron’s hair without thinking, and Agron’s smile shades darker, becomes a trifle dirty.  


“I would have your attention,” Agron says, the words a reproach, but not a serious one. “Else see offer withdrawn, and no promise given as to when you may expect it again.”

Nasir rolls his eyes and sees Agron’s face light up anew; for reasons Nasir cannot fathom, Agron loves nothing more than for Nasir to tease him so. Underneath his battle-born roughness, he is, Nasir is learning, a playful man. “You make offer of your cock nightly, Agron. If not this night, then the next,” he says, working to put some measure of indifference in his voice, as though he is not grateful recipient of said offer, as though his own cock does not rise to the merest hint of Agron’s interest. 

“You little shit,” Agron laughs, and Nasir feels a smile break across his own face, helplessly glad, as he always is, that he can cause such joy. Agron presses another kiss to his stomach, just above his navel, and Nasir huffs out a laugh at the slight tickle of it. “My cock or my mouth, then,” Agron continues, “it is all the same to you?”

“I cannot have both at once?” Nasir replies unthinkingly, tracing a thumb over Agron’s dimple, mind flashing to an image of Agron filling him thick and hot, drinking kisses from Agron’s lips in rhythm with the thrust of Agron’s cock in his ass. 

“Both at once?” Agron asks, his eyebrows arched in mock-surprise, as though he has not taken Nasir just so at least three nights in the past week, and one afternoon besides. “It might prove difficult to bend so—though gods know I would make attempt.”

“We have managed it well enough so far,” Nasir says, cupping Agron’s face in his hands and attempting to draw Agron up for a kiss, but Agron stills him, circling the slim bones of Nasir’s wrists with his large, callused hands and pulling Nasir’s hands away, pinning them lightly to the wall. His smile yet remains, but his brow is furrowed, confusion clouding his face. 

“Nasir, I—what is it you think I offer?”

Nasir blinks down at him. “I _thought_ you were promising your mouth on mine while you fuck me—promise I long to have kept,” he assures Agron, smiling, in case there has been misunderstanding. They both of them have so many worries pressing on them; this is one area in which they should not need to discuss every step. Still, Nasir will make effort, if that is what Agron desires. “Would you have me otherwise tonight?” he asks, already picturing it: Agron fucking him from behind, perhaps, his body a heavy weight pressing Nasir’s down into the blankets, or simply taking each other in hand until they reach completion, trading slow, hard kisses as he uses his quick fingers to tease Agron into madness. 

Agron shakes his head, just a bit, and lets go of Nasir’s wrists, cupping one hand over the bulge of Nasir’s cock and curling the other around his hip. When he looks back up at Nasir, his eyes shine green and gold again, lit from within with something almost tender, if a gladiator can be so. “Nasir,” Agron says, quiet but steady, so sure of himself, as though his next words do not shake the temple to its very foundations. “If you would allow it, I want to suck your cock.” 

Long moments pass while Nasir tries to make sense of the words, but there is no accounting for them, no way to make them fit the world he knows. The mere thought is an impossibility; there are whores who will not even accept coin to do this thing that Agron freely offers, that Agron _wants_. It cannot be, and yet—

And all the while Agron merely waits, patient, as he always is with Nasir, as he never seems to be with anyone else. 

“You have done such a thing before?” Nasir manages at last. 

Agron smiles again, soft, but Nasir can tell this smile is not for him; it is for some remembered boy in Germania, hundreds of miles and thousands of days from where they now stand as gladiator and house slave, _fugitivi_ of Rome and damned in equal measure. “You do not remember much of life before the Romans, but I do. Roman ways are not my own,” Agron says, “and _this thing_ —I have done it, Nasir, and I _like_ it.”

“Will you let me?” he finishes, when his words have done re-writing the whole of Nasir’s life.

Nasir cannot fit words to tongue for speech, but he manages to nod, haltingly, and hopes Agron does not mistake his uncertainty for lack of desire. 

Agron stares up at him, eyes searching, face serious and beloved. “If something displeases you,” he says, trailing off, and Nasir nods again, though he cannot imagine what Agron might do that he would not like. 

Agron’s hands untie the knots that hold Nasir’s wrappings in place, letting them drop away, and Nasir’s cock is free only for a moment before Agron leans in and—and—

“ _Agron_ ,” Nasir hears himself moan, the sound startlingly loud as it breaks the still quiet of the temple night. The wet heat of Agron’s mouth is astounding, like nothing Nasir has ever known, and he cannot stop his hips from jerking forward, thrusting deeper into Agron’s mouth. 

Agron pulls back immediately, his mouth shiny and wet with spit and already gone a bit red, and Nasir reaches out unthinkingly, cups the back of his skull and tries to push him back where he was. “Agron,” he says again, already desperate.

“Yes,” Agron says in answer to question Nasir cannot find words to ask, “yes, _yes_.” He leans back in and—and it is impossible, the things he is doing. “I would hear your voice,” he adds, pulling back for but a moment, and his words sound rough in Nasir’s ears, as though he has been on his knees for days rather than minutes, as though he has spent weeks doing nothing but holding Nasir to the wall and swallowing Nasir’s cock.

Agron uses his weight to pin Nasir’s hips to the wall, but otherwise he leaves Nasir’s body free to react as it will—and oh, it _will_ react, all the restraint Nasir learned in a dozen years of slavery shattered, split wide open like the skulls of Romans they slaughter in battle, the remains of his hated former self bleeding dry as Nasir trembles and thrashes and cries out. A wild thing, indeed, he thinks, torn apart by the incredible searing heat of Agron’s mouth, the twist of Agron’s tongue around the head of his cock, and it seems like seconds and hours at once before he feels all his muscles tense and he comes, shuddering, in Agron’s mouth.

He is only dimly aware of Agron swallowing around him, his mind wiped blank by the force of the pleasure ripped out of him. Nasir feels rather than sees Agron find his feet once more, immediately burying his face in the crook of Nasir’s neck and licking over the long tendon of his throat, his hand moving rhythmically over his own cock. Nasir would move to help him, usually, but now he can do nothing more than stand and wait, panting breathlessly as Agron moans, low, and finishes in his own hand.

For long moments they merely lean against one another, sharing breath and trading small, biting kisses, as Agron recovers and Nasir attempts to right the world. Agron had said that he enjoyed—doing that, but Nasir had never imagined—

Agron’s words cut into his thoughts. “Did that please you?” he asks, voice as tentative as Nasir has ever heard from him. 

The very question is ridiculous—how can there be any doubt? –but he would see Agron’s mind quieted, and so he answers, “Agron, _yes_ ,” putting all the feeling into his voice that he can muster. 

Relief and joy in equal measure spread across Agron’s face, and Nasir cannot control the smile he feels overtaking his own. “Nasir,” Agron says then, “If there is something you desire, you need never wait for me to offer.” He seals the words with a brush of his lips over Nasir’s. “Merely make request, and see it done.” 

And this is a new world he has awakened into, so Nasir takes the words at their value and does not let himself think before catching Agron’s head between his hands and forcing it back so that he may look into Agron’s face. 

“In that case,” Nasir says, glowing, “ _again_ ,” and watches as Agron grins, vicious and delighted, before sliding back to his knees.


End file.
